Revival
by Five Minutes Til Bedtime
Summary: In his will, Peter Keating left his only son to one Mr. Howard Roark. This is the story of their meeting. One-Shot.


Title: **Revival**

Summary: In his will, Peter Keating left his only son to one Mr. Howard Roark. This is the story of their meeting. One-Shot.

Fandom: The Fountainhead

Word Count: 947

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><p>The man stood looking out the long window to the city down below. His tall lean body, composed entirely of long lines and sharp edges, was like a mirror the building around him. The Enright House, like every building made by Howard Roark, seemed to wrap around the man, as though it recognized its one true master.<p>

The door to Roark's office opened, flashing the small sign on the door: Howard Roark – Architect. The secretary knew better than to knock, she was like all of Roark's employee's, entirely self-efficient. She would not enter his office unless he needed her to, even if he did not know it himself.

Today, however, a doubt seemed to linger about her. She hesitated before addressing him, a first.

"Mr. Roark," she said with uncertainty in her voice, "The boy is here. Shall I send him in?"

Roark turned away from the window. The movement of his body was as easy as its rest. He dipped his head in acquiescence and did not say a word. The woman hurried out the room. Roark listened with his arms behind his back, chin on his chest, as his secretary talked to someone in the hall. A few second later and the door opened again. A teenage boy stepped in.

The teenager's eyes went immediately to the empty chair behind the desk, before flickering over to Roark and assessing him openly. The brown eyes and dark wavy hair on the boy were familiar, as was his handsome face, though Roark had never seen the features so young. The differences between this boy and the man Roark knew were just as glaring, however. Roark knew with his first look that this boy was nothing like his namesake.

"Robert," said Roark, lifting his chin. The boy met his eyes unflinchingly.

"Howard Roark," said Robert. He spoke without shyness, with a level voice free of inflection. "My father spoke of you. He said that you were the greatest man he ever knew."

"Did you believe him?" asked Roark. He was not surprised by the boy's manner. Indeed it pleased him.

"From the first time I saw the Heller house," replied Robert evenly. "My father was not himself most of the time, but he spoke of you only when we were alone, so I had hoped it might be true. Before he died, he took me for a drive out to the country all to show me that one house on the cliff. I knew it then as I see it now." There was a small paused, the first sign of hesitance the teenager had shown.

"It is a pleasure to meet you in the flesh, Mr. Roark."

Roark inclined his head. A thousand meanings were told in that small movement; acknowledgement, sadness, loss – above all understanding.

"Peter Keating was friend of mine for a time. I was sad to see him go."

"It was a mercy," said Robert, though his face was tight. Roark said nothing.

"What will you do with me do now, Mr. Roark?" asked the boy after a moment. This seemed to be the question he had been waiting to ask for it slipped past his lips a pace faster. "I have four years left before my majority and I understand that my father's will was as much a surprise to you as to me. I know that you are not prepared to take on my custody, sir; however I wish that you will not reject it. I am suitable to a boarding house if nothing else."

For the first time, Roark's face showed emotion. "Don't act the fool, when we both know you are much smarter than that," he snapped. Robert's face lifted in surprise. Roark unclasped his hands from behind his back and sat down at the edge of his desk, like a panther crouching on a tree – power locked into a relaxed state.

"If you would like to know what I plan to do with you, Mr. Keating, than I will tell you plainly. I shall leave this office early and walk with you to my home. There you will meet my wife, Dominique. You will like her. I shall feed you dinner, and afterward show you to your room, which will continue to be yours until the day you no longer need or want it, majority or not. I shall not choose what school you wish to attend, the decision will be up to you. I will not decide whether you wish to live in my home or not, that will be your choice. I shall provide you with the basic things needed for living and you shall make all of your own choices. That is what I plan for you and you have known it since the moment we met eyes. I shall have only one rule for you and it is this, do not ever act the stupider than you truly are. Do not ever mask your own potential or ideas. This is the only rule. If you are amendable to that, then say yes now and that will be the end of it."

Robert did not hesitate. "Yes," he said. Then, "I'm sorry."

Roark waved a hand. "It is done. Are you ready to go?"

"Yes, sir," said the boy.

Roark nodded. Pushing off from the desk, he gestured for the door. Together they left the office and walked out of the building. A small plaque by the front door caught Robert's attention, and they both paused.

"One day I'll have a sign like that," he said. His voice was determined, bright. "A little sign just like that with just three words: Robert Keating – Artist."

Howard Roark laughed.


End file.
